by Daisy White
She found stacks of old photograph albums inside the sweet-smelling cedar chest, and spent an evening reminiscing, smiling through her tears at old family pictures, of Dre riding, her mum sailing, of herself in her Bermudian school uniform. For the first time in ages, the emptiness inside seemed to be filled, and the guilt receded slightly.
If a dark thought, or flicker of sadness entered her mind, she only had to look out of her window at the blue sky, or wander out into the night and hear the soft crash of waves on the beach below.
The warmth encouraged her to ditch her usual jumpers and heavy cord trousers, and she found herself picking out colourful shirts, cotton shorts and pretty flowery summer dresses. Instead of worrying about her weight and the rolls around her middle, she enjoyed the sun’s warmth on her bare skin, and celebrated the fact she was both healthy, and finally something approaching happy.
The mirror, previously a dreaded instrument of torture, now showed her a pretty woman; round, soft and smiling, her blue eyes sparkling with life and interest. Maybe, Chloe thought, as she hummed to herself, picking up discarded clothes ready to donate to a charity shop, maybe the woman in the mirror had been there all along, she just hadn’t recognised her.
After successfully sorting out the house and arranging her newly arrived possessions, it was time to tackle the mound of paperwork, which was growing at an alarming rate on her new office desk.
There were big decisions to be made regarding the riding stables, the animals, and another pile of legal papers, this time regarding her new residency and her divorce, which were stacked on one corner of the kitchen table.
Vowing to attack both piles later today, she sorted the paperwork neatly in order of priority. Clearly, she needed to provide herself with some sort of income, so the faded brown folders, labelled Beachside Stables in Dre’s confident blue scrawl, would have to come first. Not only was there her own livelihood to consider, there was also Antoine, not to mention the animals, who would depend on her to get things sorted out.
Chloe wandered out of the back door, feeling the heat instantly, revelling in it, smiling at the vivid tangle of shrubs and flowers that lined her lawn. The grass was some sort of native large-leaved stuff, almost like plastic to touch and very bright green. It was neatly trimmed along the edges but the flower beds were a wild mix of little purple flowers she thought might be Bermudiana, and some huge red-and-yellow lilies.
A wrought-iron gate led out to the yard, where the white-painted stables were smothered in purple bougainvillea. She greeted each of the animals in turn, breaking up carrots for the horses and goats.
‘Morning, Mrs C!’ Antoine called from the water tap, where he was scrubbing buckets. ‘Did you want me for something?’
‘Morning, Antoine.’ She smiled at him, squinting into the sun. She had asked him repeatedly to just call her Chloe, but he appeared to be more taken with Mrs C. It could be worse. ‘I’ve finished sorting the house now, so I thought I’d spend a couple of weeks just… you know, sorting out all the paperwork and exploring the area. I might walk along the Railway Trail or something today.’
‘You could take one of the horses out? Then you could go down the Railway Trail or just hack along one of the rides along the cliffs,’ Antoine suggested, disappearing with a full water bucket and reappearing from behind the storage shed with a wheelbarrow load of fresh straw.
‘I haven’t ridden for years,’ Chloe told him, laughing. ‘Maybe I should just ease myself back into it gradually?’
He was a sweet boy, she thought, and from what she had seen obviously adored the horses. In his early twenties, he had already told her he lived in Somerset Parish, played for the Somerset Trojans football team, and had a girlfriend, Louisa, who worked at Dockyard whilst she studied graphic design.
‘Go on, you’ll be fine! I’ll tack up Goldie. She’s so chilled out she should be drinking rum on the beach.’ He smiled. ‘Stay out as long as you want, we’ve only got one booking today.’
Accepting the challenge with some trepidation, she retraced her steps and went indoors to get changed. Twenty minutes later, Chloe, in jeans and pink shirt, climbed inelegantly aboard a chunky palomino mare. The saddle and bridle were Western style and she sank comfortably into the soft leather.
‘Go along the lower trail, it eventually takes you across to Warwick Long Bay, and you can go as far as you like. You can’t get lost on there and there’s a decent track. Just make sure you stay off the public beaches at this time of day.’
The sun was hot, but further along the coastal path there was a strong breeze to keep horse and rider cool. Chloe meandered along, enjoying the gentle thump of Goldie’s hooves on sand, the chirrup of a thousand unknown birds and insects, and the distant murmur of the sea. She could still ride! Well, sort of. Luckily there was nobody to see her firmly gripping Goldie’s mane with one hand. She suspected anything faster than a trot might present problems until she got used to the exercise again, but this was heavenly.
Another little spark of happiness made her catch her breath. Her fiftieth birthday earlier this year, the muted celebration, the row at the restaurant, and Mark’s declaration that he was moving out, all seemed far away. It was beginning to feel like all that had happened to another person, in another life. Her arms were already tanning a gentle golden brown, and her muscles, moving easily in time with the horse’s stride, felt sure and strong.
What had Mark said? Oh yes, ‘I do love you in a way, Chloe, but I feel like you’ve changed so much. You’re tired all the time, and no fun to be around. I’m not being mean, but you’ve put on weight and you’re just not the same woman I married. We never do anything exciting, and I feel like I’m wasting my life.’
The cruelty of his words had taken her breath away and she had felt so wounded that for days after he packed up and left, she stayed in the flat alone, unable to function. But now, she was discovering perhaps she wasn’t the burnt-out overweight wreck he had taken her for. Her new neighbours didn’t care what she looked like, as long as she was friendly and up for a gossip, and she still had her friends back home, including darling Alexa, who constantly checked in via social media and email.
She had seen a flyer for a local history group, down in the supermarket, and another in the garden centre advertising a yoga class. That would have to wait until she was more organised, of course, but suddenly, to her quiet satisfaction, there were far more possibilities than she had previously hoped for.
What had Antoine said? Just one booking today. Surely with six horses to feed and care for, not to mention his wages, the stables should be buzzing with clients. She resolved to take a careful look at those brown folders. Could she run a riding stables? She certainly couldn’t let everyone down when they had been so welcoming.
That was another thing. She could hardly stand and watch, like some kind of lady of the manor, while Antoine did all the hard work. As a teenager at boarding school, she had spent long holidays with pony-owning friends and could easily take on many of the associated tasks. Mucking out, tack cleaning and general looking after horses, she vaguely remembered, was very satisfying.
The horse’s stride was soothing and the heat soporific. Chloe rode further along the trail, still lost in thought. The sandy trail took her along a clifftop path, before plunging down into tangled trees and dense shrubbery towards the beach.
There was a derelict building higher up on the trail to her right, and she tugged the horse to a halt, peering through the twisted trunks and vines. Yes, it was the remains of a long, low house set in an L shape. The front door was all peeling blue paint, and the roof looked like it had caved in on one side. But it had clearly been an impressive residence once.
Stone walls and a large mossy driveway surrounded the wreck, and although most of the windows were boarded up, it looked as though the three at the front of the house were clear.
Staring at the cracked windowpanes, she almost fancied she could see movement. A quick flit of passing shadows, maybe. She
shivered.
Despite a frisson of fear, the familiar urge to explore was still there. She couldn’t really explain it, except to say that she was very nosy, but it was more than that. The smell, the feel of old buildings, and the echoes of the people who had lived in them was just plain fascinating, touching her imagination, taking hold of her emotions. If time travel had been invented, Chloe would have been first in the queue. Just for little trips back and forth, though, she thought, amusement bubbling up until she laughed out loud.
It had driven Mark crazy when they took road trips. She would be twisting in her seat at the sight of derelict railway stations, warehouses, farm buildings, as well as the usual castles and historic houses. Chloe had soon learnt to keep her nosiness hidden from her husband.
He never saw anything but the obvious. To begin with she had fallen for his dynamic personality, his good looks and confidence. Now she saw he was just rude and arrogant. There wasn’t anything deliberately nasty about him, it was just that he and Chloe had nothing in common. It was a miracle they had plodded on together for as long as they had.
Leaving the house, which looked a lot like a dreamy stage piece from Sleeping Beauty, in its tangle of intertwined tree trunks and silver vines, she kicked the mare onward. Now the trail descended steeply, and Chloe ducked under a low bough, her hair brushing the horse’s neck. The overhanging branches grew more densely here, blocking out all but bars of flickering sunlight.
Goldie saw it before she did, propping to a halt, and nearly tumbling Chloe from the saddle. Jolted from her daydreams, she struggled back off the horse’s neck where she had ended up, murmuring soothing words. But Goldie was trembling and staring at something lying in the bushes. Chloe could see what looked like a bundle of clothing. There were dark red-and-brown stains on the white sand.
She dismounted, her own legs trembling. Reluctantly, pulling the reins to make the horse follow her, she approached. Heart thumping, she could feel sweat dripping down her face. It wasn’t a load of old clothes, it was a body.
One hand was outstretched, palm up as though pleading, the other hidden by the torso. He was on his side, legs carelessly crossed, face bare but bloody, and eyes mercifully shut. If it hadn’t been for the blood, he might have been sleeping. The smell of sour blood and sense of violent death almost made her retch.
Chloe forced herself to bend down, touching his cheek, glancing hopefully at his chest for any breathing. There were no signs of life and although the skin was warm from the heat of the day, the hand she tentatively tugged was rigid. Half-hidden by the pose, giving no further doubt as to his condition, was a bloody wound. The man had been stabbed in the chest. There were slash marks on his hands and arms. Perhaps he had tried to defend himself?
As she looked more closely at his bloody face, she noticed something that made her freeze in horror. As if the violence wasn’t bad enough, it was clear the killer had carved three very distinct shapes in the victim’s forehead; a triangle and two squares.
What kind of crazed murderer would do that? Chloe blinked, half wondering if her imagination had traced the shapes from the bloodstains, but no, the lines were blurred but distinct.
As she looked more closely at the vegetation surrounding him she could see there was a lot of blood. Spatters across the silver tree trunks and a pool of dark, dried redness under the body. Goldie had pulled back to the far reach of her reins, nostrils wide, snorting in horror.
‘Oh hell!’ Chloe inched backwards, eyes darting around the jungle, back up the trail. Was the murderer still around? The blood wasn’t fresh, but suddenly the shadows were threatening, and every twig crack was a footfall. She was shaking so much it took several attempts to mount the horse, but she finally managed it by clambering onto a fallen tree trunk.
Long-disused muscles aching, she pushed the horse into a trot, then canter, clinging half to her mane, half to the saddle, as they headed back to the stable yard at a brisk pace.
Antoine had taken the booked ride out as she arrived back, jumping off the sweating horse and struggling to stand up on shaking legs. She shoved Goldie into her stable and slammed the half-door shut. Rushing across the yard she caught her thumb on the iron gate, tore her nail and cursed. Nearing the house she ran straight into a tall man, who was rounding the corner. ‘Oh!’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare… Hey, are you okay?’ The man steadied her by the elbows, peering at her obviously distraught face.
‘I…’ She was gasping for breath now. ‘There’s a dead body on the trail-path down towards the beach. A man. He’s been murdered. I could see lots of blood and…’
‘A body?’ The man’s face blanched and his eyes widened. But despite the obvious shock he was reaching for his mobile phone, punching out numbers. ‘It’s okay. I’ll ring the police. I take it you haven’t already done that?’
‘No! I haven’t organised a new phone yet. Mine died and I couldn’t remember if it was 911 or 999… It doesn’t matter.’ Chloe was trying to get a hold of herself, to calm her racing heart and be sensible. She heard the man asking for the Bermuda Police Service, and clutched at the trunk of the spice tree, trying to steady her wobbly legs.
‘Right, that’s all done. They’re on their way, and they’ll come here first so you can give them directions.’
‘Okay. Thank you.’ Chloe was trying to gather her thoughts, still feeling her heart pounding, her palms sweaty. There was nothing more she could do for that poor, poor man but wait for the police. She leant against the wall, fighting the wave of dizziness that threatened to overwhelm her.
‘Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?’ The stranger watched anxiously as she struggled to compose herself.
The feeling passed, leaving her with wobbly legs but nothing worse. ‘Sorry, I’m fine, honestly. It must be the shock or something… Thank you so much…’
‘You look like you could do with an iced drink. Why don’t we go inside and wait?’ the man suggested, watching her carefully.
Perhaps he was still worried she was about to faint, Chloe thought. He had a slight accent; European, she thought, possibly Spanish? Normally she wouldn’t have invited a stranger into her home, but under the circumstances, she supposed he seemed fairly trustworthy. Her city girl suspicion seemed at odds with the island friendliness she had met in Bermuda.
Her new friend was smiling now, and after that first initial shock, he had certainly been very helpful. Should she trust him? Chloe wondered, still dithering about letting a total stranger into her home. On the other hand, the police would be here soon, bright sunlight filled the garden, and she had neighbours within earshot. There was no reason to be so suspicious, she reasoned to herself.
He was tall and slim, with dark hair and olive skin, dressed in casual trousers and a green striped shirt. Was that some sort of military pin on his tie? Even in her shock she found herself noting it with interest. It looked like the insignia of the Royal Navy. ‘We can go through the back door.’ She ushered him down the path.
He trod carefully ahead of her towards her house, deck shoes crunching on the gravel. His accent was European, but his English was perfect. ‘Sorry, I haven’t introduced myself, have I? I’m Jonas Aliente, and you must be Chloe? I actually popped over to see if you would consider selling me your house.’
3
Jonas stayed with her, solicitously pouring iced orange juice from a jug in her fridge. As news spread, she felt glad of his calm presence, as he chatted to the neighbours who appeared at the door, occasionally shooting her a concerned glance.
The police inspector from the Serious Crimes Unit, tall and capable-looking, took a team of uniformed officers down the track to investigate the body, and Chloe sat huddled at her kitchen table, limp as a rag doll. She couldn’t stop shaking, and felt freezing cold despite the fleece she had donned. The dead man’s face was burned onto her memory, and she could still see in her mind’s eye, his twisted body lying on the side of the track…
Ailsa, clearly sensing gossi
p, and aiming for the centre of the action, marched in the open back door, hugged Chloe and made her a cup of tea, ‘Because you need something warm, darling,’ then she settled down at the table, obviously intending to be right at the heart of the action.
Chloe cleared her throat, watching another police vehicle, blue lights flashing, jolting past on the track that led to the body. ‘Jonas, you don’t have to stay. It was very kind of you to call the police for me, and everything, but you don’t need to babysit me.’ She flushed, suddenly aware that her face was sweaty and her hair tangled from the wind. Not that anything should matter, she told herself sternly, compared to that poor man lying in the shrubs, but Jonas was so very sleek and unruffled, with his patrician good looks and immaculate clothing.
Jonas shrugged, sipping his own glass of juice. ‘I’m happy to stay. I have already cancelled my next meeting. But if you would prefer, I can go?’
Ailsa was glaring at him, but Chloe sighed. ‘It’s just that you said something about buying my house, and I’m not really in any fit state to discuss anything at the moment. This is such a shock, and that poor, poor man. I wonder who he was and what happened?’
‘Are you selling your place?’ Ailsa asked Chloe quickly, sharp chin jutting out aggressively, ignoring Jonas.
‘No…’ Chloe rubbed a hand across her forehead. ‘No, I’m not but…’
‘Don’t even think about it now.’ Jonas smiled. ‘I’m known for my bad timing, but this is crazy, even for me.’ His expression changed and he frowned. ‘It is a terrible thing, for you to find a dead man. Are you sure you didn’t recognise him? I mean, he’s not a neighbour or anything?’
‘No, I don’t think so, but then I haven’t been living here long enough to get to know everyone in the area. I was horribly shocked and desperate to call the police so I didn’t look to see if he had a wallet or anything…’ Chloe liked him better now he was expressing more emotion. Of course it had been nice to have someone who was calm and cool to lean on for a while, but his icy control made her feel all the more inadequate as she struggled to get a hold of her emotions. Perhaps he was just one of those people who was terribly good in a crisis.